Bad Bood
by MercurialInK
Summary: Sam Winchester was the perfect applicant to the FBI Academy. He's off the charts brilliant, fluent in multiple languages, and in great physical shape. There's just one problem: his background. Sam Winchester is the youngest son of a suspected Mobster and Crime lord, John Winchester. Unfortunately for Sam, he can run from his past, but he can't escape his family.
1. Prologue

**Bad Blood **

**AN: There can't ever be enough Winchester Criminal!AUs, so I'm making one. Enjoy.**

...

Special Agent Victor Henrickson leaned back in his chair, exhaling deeply as he went over the file of FBI candidates. Sometimes, he loved his job – catching criminals, chasing down bad guys, the thrill of the hunt, all of it was incredible. But the two months a year when he served as the head of the applications board were probably the worst two months of every year.

See, he already had nine candidates lined up for agent positions. There was only one more slot to fill, and he knew exactly who he wanted for it.

The applicant was Sam Winchester. He was a twenty-one year old Stanford graduate with an undergraduate degree in Justice and Law, and a minor in Philosophy. He'd finished his degree in three years, and had a 4.0. The kid spoke six languages fluently – Latin, Aramaic, Hebrew, Farsi, Ancient Greek, and Arabic. He was captain of the Mock Trial team (and Henrickson laughed out loud just a bit because honestly, putting in that much time and effort to pretend to be lawyers trying a fake case couldn't possibly be worth it), and an acclaimed member of the fencing and track teams. The kid also had two black belts, one in Tae Kwon Do, and one in Krav Maga.

Honestly, he was a perfect applicant, and he would have been Victors first pick of the litter out of the hundreds of files he'd reviewed. Sam Winchester wasn't just brilliant and analytical – he had a plethora of practical skills that some agents could spend their entire careers trying to build up. He was fast, he was strong, he could fight, and Victor had the nagging feeling that if he tested the kid out on the firing rage, he'd beat out half the standing records in the academy.

There was, however, something holding him back from approving Winchester.

One of the FBI's longest standing cases revolved around a man named John Winchester. The man was richer than god, and owned a series of businesses that couldn't possibly be legitimate. He was practically a movie style mob boss, and Victor knew agents that had spent more than a decade trying to pin a suspicious trail of murders on the man's shoulders, but nothing would stick. Victor estimated that there were about thirty-seven counts of murder alone that could be traced back to the man if they could find the evidence, and those were just the murder charges; the FBI suspected Winchester of series of crimes ranging from extortion to impersonation of federal officers to grave desecration to bank robbery to murder.

Between Winchester's own slippery nature and his attorney, a very frightening woman named Ellen (whose own husband was rumored to be one of Johns early hits, and remained an unsolved murder investigation twelve years later), the FBI couldn't get John Winchester on a single charge.

And then there was the mystery of John Winchesters kids; Dean and little Sammy. Dean had gone straight into the family business after high school, and there was a second file being compiled on a desk in the agency detailing the things they suspected the older brother of.

Sam, on the other hand, was clean. Victor had ran the most extensive background check he could authorize, and as far as he could tell, Sam Winchester had never been more than a brilliant boy with a bright future, chafing to get away from his family. Hell, some digging had shown that the boy didn't even get sent money by his father; a financial check had proved that Sam got by on what he could earn working at a local bookstore, and that his tuition was paid by a full scholarship.

So was Sam on the level, or meant to be a deep cover plant?

Victor had a final interview with Sam that morning, and – just going by his gut – he thought Sam really wanted to make a name for himself away from his family, and that was it.

Victor exhaled again, and closed Sam's file, making his decision.

He'd approve the application, but he'd keep a close eye on Winchester. Better yet, he'd make sure that the boy didn't come within spitting distance of the case the FBI was building against his father, just in case.

Because otherwise, the Bureau would be lucky to have him, and Victor knew a catch when he saw one. Sam would be a great asset to the Bureau.

"Welcome to the Academy, Winchester," Victor said. "This better be the right decision."


	2. Chapter 1

Bad Blood - Chapter One

_..._

_Four years earlier (give or take):_

A free ride.

Sam literally couldn't believe it.

He'd already gotten the email with his acceptance letter to Stanford, but this was just – well, it was unbelievable.  
Stanford was offering to pay his way – tuition, room and board, everything – through college. Stanford. Plenty of kids dreamed of just getting in, and Sam hadn't dared to hope that far. But here it was in his hands, the physical proof that he had a future ahead of him.

He had a future that didn't involve _The Family Business _(and yes, in Sam's head it was both italicized and capitalized, after hearing his dad and brother say it with such reverence and importance over the years), and he was excited beyond words.

He just didn't know how he was going to break it to his dad.

Shit.

Dean wasn't going to take this well.

Sometimes, Sam thought Dean and Dad spent more time trying to protect him than they did trying to help him grow up. He'd spent a lot of his life sheltered, and he wanted to make his own way in the world.

He loved his family. He really did, and he knew they would understand.

A free ride.

How could they not?

"Hey Sammy, dinner!" Dean said, poking his head into Sam's room. For the first ten years of Sam's life they had lived a transient existence, moving around from state to state after their mom had died, but John had finally settled himself and his sons in a nice house in Virginia, where he could stay connected to his businesses and make sure his sons went to a good school.

The upside was, Sam finally had his own room.

Sam scrambled to hide the letter under his pillow when he heard the door open and smiled up at his brother when he saw Dean.

"It's Sam, and I'm right behind you," he told his brother.

"So whatcha got there anyway, more homework?" Dean asked as they headed to the dining room.  
"Yeah," Sam agreed neutrally. "They're really packing it on now, like they want to prove they can make us learn things in the last two weeks before we're free forever."

Dean laughed.

"Man am I so glad I'm outta there," he told his little brother. "Working with dad is way more fun, you'll see."

Sam was a little unclear about exactly _what _Dean did for their dad, but he was sure it had something to do with the two of them sheltering him all the time.

He wasn't stupid, no matter what his family thought, and he knew there was something hinky about what his dad and brother did.

"Hey boys," John Winchester greeted his sons when they came into the living room. "How was school Sammy?"

"It's Sam, and it was fine," Sam replied. Dean snorted.

"Whatever Sammy-"

"It's Sam," Sam shot back again and tried and failed to dodge out of the way as his brother pulled him into a headlock to ruffle his hair.

"Sammy-Sam, when are you gonna learn?" Dean asked with a shit eating grin as Sam finally pulled himself free, shoving his brother away with a halfhearted glare.

"Sammys a chubby twelve year old," Sam grumbled, and Dean elbowed him, earning another shove from Sam.

"Boys," John said, and that was all it took for the two of them to fall in line, taking a seat at the table.

"So dad," Sam started, once all three of them had dug into the brisket their cook had made. "I got a letter in the mail today."

"About what?" John asked.

"I got accepted in Stanford University."

Two forks clattered against the sides of their plates, and Sam looked up, his face flushing a little with embarrassment. Dean's lips were pursed in frustration, and John looked like he was itching to hit something.

"Sam, we talked about this."

"They want to give me a free ride," Sam put in quickly, feeling frustration swell up in his gut. Any kids he knew would gladly kill or murder for a spot at Stanford, let alone a free ride. He didn't know any parents that would be _angry _at their kids for getting one, but it seemed John Winchester would be the outstanding exception.

And sure, Sam's dad hadn't been all too thrilled about the college idea (had all but ordered him not to apply when the subject had come up) but Sam had thought his dad might come around.

Apparently not, if the tick in John Winchesters jaw meant anything.

"You're not going."

"But dad!"

"Sammy, just shut it," Dean muttered across the table. "Just- leave it."

"No way!" Sam said, standing up sharply. "I got into _Stanford, _dad. I know you and Dean rag on me for doing homework all the time, but I'm smart, and I want this more than anything, why can't you see that?"

"I can see just fine," John grumbled, pushing his plate away. "And I'm telling you that when you graduate, you're joining Dean in the family business, and that's the end of the discussion. I thought we settled this weeks ago."

Sam stuck out his jaw stubbornly.  
"What the hell do you even want to go to college for?" John demanded, and Sam really couldn't believe he had to justify this to his own goddamned _parent._

"I want to be a lawyer-"

"Oh great he wants to be a damned lawyer!" Dean cut in.

"What's wrong with having dreams, Dean?" Sam yelled. "What's wrong with wanting to make something of myself?"  
"Because you're supposed to be loyal to this family Sam!" John all but roared. Sam flinched back, but held his ground. He wasn't going to lose this fight, wasn't going to give up on the dream he'd held so close to his heart for years, wasn't going to give up on a _free fucking ride to Stanford, _for the love of god-

"What and go into the _Family Business?" _Sam sneered.

"Yes!" John hissed.

"Yeah, well I don't even know what the "Family Business" is, but I do know it's probably something grossly illegal and-"

Bingo. Both of them flinched back, and Sam frowned.

He'd overheard a few hushed conversations with a blonde woman – the first attorney Sam had ever met, a woman named Ellen that had garnered more than her fair share of hero worship from Sam as a kid – and some others with "business associates" of his father, enough to know that his family's wealth wasn't strictly kosher, but downright _illegal, _that he'd only guess at, until now.

He nodded, trying to process that new information, suddenly furious at both of them.

"Great, so not only are we some kind of criminals, you want me to help you break the law too."

"Everything I've done, I have done for this family!" John said, and he wasn't yelling any more, but his voice had lost none of its intensity. "The same goes for Dean, and you'll do your fair share-"

"Fair share of what, dad?" Sam cut in. "Breaking the law? You know what, fuck that. Fuck you, and fuck the family business. Stanford is offering me a _free ride, _which means I don't need your help-"

The slap was entirely unexpected, and it sent Sam flying into the table. Dishes clattered across the floor, sending brisket everywhere, and Dean jumped back in alarm as the table overturned.

"Sam!"

Sam was breathing heavily, holding himself up in the remains of what had been their dinner. There was blood along one of his arms where a broken china bowl had cut it, and a bit of mashed potatoes in his floppy hair. His eyes glared up – resentful and accusing – at his father, who seemed physically shocked by what he had done.

"You going to hit me again?" Sam asked. He hadn't gotten up. All three of them were frozen, as though by remaining absolutely still, they could ignore what had just happened. John Winchester had never raised a hand to either of his children before, had never thought in a million years that he might, even if he wanted to shake some sense into his youngest child sometimes.

Sam's cheek throbbed, and he could feel tears threatening.

Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet.

"I'm going to go now," he said quietly. "I'm going to Bobby's, and I'm going to finish out the school year there. And then I'm going to Stanford, and if you want to stop me, you can have me whacked, or whatever."

Neither man stopped Sam as he walked towards the stairs.

Ten minutes later, Sam had a duffel bag packed with everything he needed. He gave his room one last glance, feeling a sharp pain in his gut at the thought that he'd never come back, never sit and watch a movie with Dean on the floor, would never sleep in his own bed, or spend hours reading from the three bookshelves in his room.

It was almost enough to make him put the bag back down and apologize to his family, swear he would never leave them again.

But apparently Dean and his dad were criminals, and they wouldn't stand for Sam being anything less or more than what they were, and he wasn't willing to accept that.

Reverently folding the envelope with the free ride into his backpack, Sam went back downstairs.

The mess was already cleaned up from the table. Dean was nowhere in sight but John was standing in the dining room, his arms crossed and his posture tense.

Sam walked past him without a word, heading for the front door.

"You walk out that door, you better stay gone."  
John's voice was harsh and angry, and Sam flinched.

"Don't worry Dad, I'll stay gone," he promised, and he pulled open the door, pretending that those words weren't breaking his heart, pretending that he didn't want to go back and make this right with every fiber of his being.

…

Bobby lived across town. He owned an auto shop that Sam and Dean had practically grown up playing in and around. Sam had called him from the bus and the older man met him on the front steps, engulfing him in strong arms.

"Hey kid," Bobby said, ruffling his hair affectionately. "You eaten yet?"

Sam nodded, but he couldn't trust himself to speak. Since leaving home, he felt like he'd been one hairs breadth away from physically breaking down and crying.

"Why don't you come in and tell me about it?" Bobby suggested, his eyes trailing over Sam's mussed clothes and the bit of dried mashed potato still stuck to his hair, before being drawn to his arm, which had already dripped quite a bit of blood over the kids shirt, and the blooming bruise on Sam's cheek.

Sam nodded again, and followed Bobby into the older mans house.

Slowly at first, and then faster and faster, Sam shared the brief story with the auto shop owner, barely managing to keep it together.

"I can't believe it," Bobby whispered. "I mean, I knew John was a mean son of a bitch, but I never thought he'd raise a hand to his boys."

"Apparently that only applies when we don't piss him off," Sam said resentfully, tugging at the bandage Bobby had wrapped around the cut in his arm.

"So you got into Stanford, then," Bobby said. "Good job, Sammy, I'm proud of you."  
There was a part of Sam that needed so desperately to hear that from his dad (well, really, his brother, and he couldn't even begin to say how much it had cut him that Dean had taken John's side in this argument."

"What I want to know is what my dad does that's so damn important," Sam muttered. "I already know it's illegal, but what is it he does, exactly?"

"Aw shit," Bobby muttered under his breath. "Look Sam, you're better off not knowing. Your dads got enemies heaped on enemies, and we're not exactly seeing eye to eye these days either. The best way you stay protected is that you know as little as possible about what he does, and what he's done."

Sam bit his lip in frustration, but didn't say anything for a while.

"Has he killed people?" Sam asked finally.

Bobby stilled, but his silence was enough of an answer. Sam sagged back into the couch, closing his eyes.

"This is like some sort of nightmare," he muttered. "I just want to wake up, you know?"

"Why don't you get some sleep Sam," Bobby said. "I'll make sure you get in to school for this week, and then we'll see after that what you decide, okay?"

Sam nodded, and headed upstairs to the room Bobby had on his second floor where Dean and Sam would always sleep when they came here.

"Thanks Bobby," Sam murmured. He felt tired and in pain, and he just wanted this day to be over, to have never happened, to be gone, but the only option he had was moving forward.

His family didn't want him any more, that was clear. He was going to have to make his own way, just like he'd wanted to do.

And if Dean and his dad were really criminals, then that was probably all for the better.

Maybe.

…

Sam's first day at Stanford was kind of a blur. He'd spent the summer working for Bobby and avoiding his brother's calls. In the process, he'd fixed up an old junker (with some copious guidance from Bobby) that the salvage yard owner let him keep, and he'd driven it across the country to Palo Alto.

It had taken two weeks, but he'd managed it, and was feeling exhausted but proud of himself for it. He got to his dorm room, unpacked, and just crashed. He nearly missed the welcome meet for the people in his major, but he showed up in the nick of time.

It was at that particular meet and greet that Sam met the astonishingly attractive, and yet absolutely brilliant Jessica Moore. She looked like some princess out of a fairy tale, and it said a lot about Sam's people skills that those were the first words out of his mouth.

Jessica laughed, a full bodied affair that sent her golden hair swinging back and forth and left her hands scrambling for purchase to stay standing.

"Aw, that's really sweet," she told him, when she finally caught her breath. "Totally misplaced, but really sweet. I'm Jessica."

"Sam Winchester," Sam said, shaking her hand with a blush. "Uh, sorry if I was awkward there-"

But Jessica waved his apology away.

"It's fine Sam," she told him. "Honestly, that's what we get for going to Stanford. Nearly everywhere here is so smart it's practically a social disorder."

Sam laughed with her that time.

"So you're a justice major?" he'd asked.

"Yeah!" Jessica said. "I'm going to be some hotshot lawyer some day."

Sam grinned back at her earnestly.

"Seems to be where I'm headed, at the moment anyway," he said. "I've always wanted to be a lawyer, but honestly, I just wanted to get away from my family."  
Jessica nodded in understanding.

"Well, come on Mister Winchester, let's go be social with our fellow academics!"

Sam snorted, but he let the blonde take him by the hand and weave through the crowd, pulling him from group to group effortlessly. The girl was a social marvel.

And somehow, they managed to wind up in a ground of freshmen all surrounding a senior. The older student had aviator shades and a leather jacket (Sam's brain screamed _total player _before he'd taken a second glance, and his heart throbbed with a painful reminder of his brother), and was casually leaning against the wall behind him, regaling the freshmen with tales about an activity known as "mock trial."

"So you put on suits, pretend to be lawyers, to try a fake case about some fake dude whose pretend wife died in an accident that never happened," Jessica said, nodding along with the senior (one Eric Fullmeir, Sam eventually learned). "That sounds totally _not crazy._"

She and the older student shared a laugh, and then she turned to Sam.

"Come on, we should totally try out!"

Sam started, completely unprepared for her eagerness.

"I thought you just said it was crazy?" he asked.

"Yeah, crazy awesome, come on, you're my friend, you've got to go try out with me or it'll be lame," Jessica begged. Sam wasn't quite clear on how that worked out, but he was willing to make new friends, and why on earth was he in college if it wasn't for having new experiences?

Besides, it was one step closer to becoming a real lawyer, if Jess's description was accurate, so he decided to give it a try.

By the time he and Jess had left the mixer, Sam was exhausted. He wasn't sure he'd had to meet so many new people since the first day of high school, and he felt drained and exhausted before classes even started.

"So, that was fun," Jess said, making a face. Aside from Sam, she'd managed to rope two other freshmen (Katelyn and Brady, the latter of whom it turned out was Sam's roommate, who he hadn't met yet) into her little personal inner circle, and Sam was beginning to understand that the blonde woman was more of a force of nature than an actual person. "So, Lord of the Rings marathon, my dorm, one hour from now?"

And because Sam was always down for Lord of the Rings, he agreed, despite the fact that he really, desperately, needed more sleep.

Heading back to his own dorm to try and get some unpacking done before they started the Fellowship of the Ring, Sam decided that he really was going to be okay here. He'd make friends, and he didn't need his fathers' dubious connections to make his way.

He felt like he really, truly belonged here. And if joking around with Brady wasn't quite the same as it was with Dean, well… nobody could replace Dean, not for Sam. But he couldn't go back to the way things were, as much as he might miss parts of them.

"So my mom wakes up, right, because she smells something burning," Brady was saying. "And she comes downstairs and just stands there, like she can't believe what's going on. I think that's when the toaster exploded, but she just turned around and went back upstairs, and we learned never to put donuts in the microwave again."

Sam snorted.

"Dude, sisters, they look all cute and innocent, but they get into the _worst _trouble," Brady moaned good-naturedly. "So, lets go, I want to see what all the fuss is about with this Lord of the Flies thing-"

"You haven't seen Lord of the Rings?" Sam demanded, and Brady shook his head dejectedly. "My mom thought it was too scary," he admitted.

"Oh you missed out dude, we need to fix this like now," Sam said, practically dragging his roommate towards the elevator and Jessica's dorm.

…

Days passed. Classes started. Sam was cautiously optimistic that he could excel in all his courses, and he was pleased to realize that his lecturers for this semester were all at least competent, if not downright fascinating to listen to. He was already getting feedback from some of his classmates through Jess and Brady, and apparently one of the Justice professors held classes online on Facebook, and another one insisted on running any and all assignments through the school web server, which had a reputation for crashing and losing documents, or horribly mangling their formatting.

But Sam was perfectly happy in all of his classes.

"Study group on the second floor of the library?" Sam asked Jess when he saw her coming back from lunch as he headed to Astronomy (his science gen-ed for the semester).

"God yes!" Jess said. "Save me Sam, it's been one week and I already have fifty pages and two papers!"

"At least you didn't get Rosenberg, he's making us do the whole reading and not the excerpts!" Sam yelled back, already several yards passed her. "Tell Kate, would you? I'll text Brady."

Jess saluted him with her Chemistry book and turned the corner, out of sight.

Sam was grinning all the way to the Science building.

God it was nice to fit in here. There were people who cared about their classes, and _wanted _to study, partly because you couldn't avoid doing a massive amount of work to pass some of these classes, but also because it was just so damn _fascinating._

Sam wasn't a physics major, and wasn't even contemplating switching over to the dark side, but lunar rotation was just really cool, and he loved learning from the professor, which was a triple plus in any class (if only he could fight the urge to kill the three students who chattered behind him all class).

Sam checked in with Bobby every few days, to let him know he was still alive, entirely unrepentant about having gone to college, and perfectly happy (if somewhat homesick for his brother).

So it came to a shock to Sam when he looked up and realized he'd been in school almost a month.

His days were spent studying or hanging out with his friends, and he became bosom friends with the night librarians, all of whom had some kind of magical research powers that Sam desperately wanted to learn.

He tried out for track, and made the team, much to his surprise. His dad had forced Sam and Dean to run every day, but Sam had been coltishly long limbed and awkward once he'd hit high school, and couldn't be considered fast or graceful.

He had grace enough to avoid tripping over his own two feet on a sprinting track, which was enough for the barely competitive Stanford track team.

Really, now that he was running on his own, for his own pleasure, Sam found that he enjoyed it a lot. It was a nice stress relief from books sometimes, and it shut Jess and Brady up about trying to drag him out of the library.

He did keep an eye on the job listings page that the University kept for Stanford students, because the pragmatic part of his mind told Sam that even if he had his room, board, and tuition paid for, he needed to make some cash of his own.

And that's how he met Gabriel Milton.


End file.
